


A Midsummer Dream

by Keep_Calm_And_Expecto_Patronum



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dirty Talk, Divination, Festivals, Fortune Telling, M/M, Midsummer, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Jaskier | Dandelion, Pining Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Scotland, Tarot, Triss Merigold Ships It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:27:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24680788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keep_Calm_And_Expecto_Patronum/pseuds/Keep_Calm_And_Expecto_Patronum
Summary: Best friends Geralt and Jaskier travel to the annual Midsummer Festival on the Isle of Lewis. But after a fortune teller reads their future, they discover that perhaps more than friendship is on the cards.**Written for the Geraskier Midsummer Mini Bang Fest**
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 21
Kudos: 178
Collections: Geraskier Midsummer Mini Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of the [Geraskier Midsummer Mini Bang ](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Geraskier_Midsummer_Mini_Bang/profile). Thank you to the mods for organising this fest, it was a lot of fun to participate and write! 
> 
> And a special thank you to [mersephesie ](https://mersephesie.tumblr.com/) for creating such beautiful artwork to accompany my story. Their artwork can be found [here](https://66.media.tumblr.com/896c8017aacb1a2b7aa498070b7b6f28/7e7bf4f5773e9c0b-45/s2048x3072/0f31bf97d5b88c07445e1742b313af619531ce74.png) and [here](https://66.media.tumblr.com/3c200d4c58a8ffb0bcdbeaa6675f0ce2/7e7bf4f5773e9c0b-e3/s2048x3072/865d18630d0ef00d320cca90c80f9313c477eae0.png).
> 
> And finally, thank you to my beta [ OllieMaye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OllieMaye/pseuds/OllieMaye) for helping me with the story and SPaG!

“Geralt…”

Geralt only grunted in response to Jaskier’s summons as he was almost entirely focused on what was happening on the television screen. He sat cross legged on the couch playing Mortal Kombat for probably the millionth time, punching the buttons of his controller with more aggression than Jaskier thought was strictly necessary. Jaskier watched with silent amusement as Geralt cursed loudly and threw his head back in frustration as he lost yet another match. Whoever his opponent was, they clearly had the upper hand.

“Do you have any plans this weekend?” asked Jaskier casually.

“What are you after this time?” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier bristled at the insinuation. “Why do you always assume that I’m up to something?”

“Because you always are,” he shot back without looking away from the television screen.

As rude as it was to point out, Jaskier couldn’t argue with that. “Well, that’s besides the point. You still haven’t answered my question.”

Geralt swore loudly again as he lost another match to his online opponent. To save Geralt further humiliation, Jaskier stepped in front of the television to block his view. With a mixture of exasperation and relief, Geralt sighed and tossed the controller onto the coffee table.

“Alright, I’m all ears. What do you have planned?”

“Well, the weather forecast says it’s sunny and dry all weekend. I think we ought to take advantage of that and go on a little adventure.”

Geralt’s eyes narrowed. “What sort of adventure?”

“The _best_ kind: the kind that culminates in some drunken debauchery,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows in what he hoped was a beguiling manner. “How does that sound?”

“Enticing,” Geralt admitted flatly. “More enticing than getting my arse handed to me all weekend playing this bloody game.”

Pushing that equally enticing image from his mind, Jaskier continued, “So what do you say? Are you game?”

Geralt’s eyes flitted between the television screen and Jaskier in silent contemplation for a moment before he shrugged. “I might have some free time this weekend.”

“Excellent! ‘Cause I’ve got us tickets to attend a festival.” Jaskier pulled a flyer from his back pocket, unfolded it and brandished it in Geralt’s face. “We’ll need to pack our camping gear. And you’ll need to drive.”

Geralt snatched the flyer from Jaskier’s hand and took a closer look. “A Midsummer festival? Why the fuck would I want to go to that?”

“Because we’ve never been to one before,” said Jaskier as though that was reason enough. “You dig out the tent, I’ll go make our sandwiches for the journey.”

Jaskier sauntered into the adjoining kitchen and began pulling out the essentials from the fridge and cupboards to make their snacks for the road trip. Geralt appeared at the doorway a moment later, still staring at the flyer.

“This says that the festival is on the Isle of Lewis and Harris,” he pointed out.

“Uhuh.” Jaskier pulled a wholemeal loaf towards him. “Butter or mayo?”

“Butter,” Geralt replied. “Jaskier, that’s a two-day drive from here.”

“Exactly! That’s why we’ll need to leave first thing in the morning.”

“Please, tell me that you’re joking.”

Jaskier paused buttering the bread and turned to face Geralt. “Do I _look_ like I’m joking?”

The corner of Geralt’s lip twitched as he suppressed a smile. “It’s difficult to take anything you say seriously when you’re strutting about the flat in a silk kimono.”

“You like the kimono,” Jaskier argued lazily, facing the counter again. “What kind of filling do you want?”

“Corned beef.” Geralt leant against the doorframe and crossed his arms. “You can’t seriously expect me to drop everything just to go gallivanting with you across the Highlands.”

“Why not?” Jaskier shrugged. “You don’t have anything else planned this weekend, do you?”

“When you mentioned going on an adventure, I thought you meant going down to _The Seven Cats_ for a few pints.”

“Well, that’s not much of an adventure, is it? We _always_ go to _The Seven Cats_ ,” Jaskier argued. “Tell me, what would you be doing otherwise: drinking on the couch all day and playing computer games?”

_“You’re_ usually the one that suggests it!” Geralt shot back defensively.

“And we always have hours of fun,” Jaskier acknowledged. “But this will be a _proper_ adventure! Have you ever been to Scotland before?”

“Well...no.”

“Neither have I!” he replied excitedly. “Come on, it’ll be fun! If I tell you there are beer tents and barbeques, does that help to sweeten the deal?”

When Geralt’s expression changed from one of reservation to interest, Jaskier knew that he had succeeded in winning him over. It was something that Jaskier had learned early on in their friendship: the best way to persuade Geralt to do something that he wasn’t particularly keen on was to appeal to the man’s stomach.

“Alright, fuck it,” he sighed. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”

Jaskier resisted the temptation to throw his arms around Geralt’s neck and hug him: they might be best friends, but Geralt had never been the overly affectionate type. Instead, he smiled warmly at Geralt and handed him one of the freshly made corned beef sandwiches.

“Don’t worry, we’re going to have a great time.” Geralt didn’t look entirely convinced by that but rather than argue, he took a large bite out of his sandwich and wandered back into the living room. “Oh! We’ll need to pick Triss up on the way tomorrow morning. She’s coming too.”

Jaskier heard Geralt grunt disapprovingly at that, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like ‘sponger’ before he settled back onto the couch and started up his video game again. Jaskier smiled to himself and continued making their packed lunches, thinking to himself what a pair they made. He would be the first to admit that he and Geralt didn’t look like the type of people who would ever cross paths in life, let alone be best friends. Where Geralt was aloof and grumpy, Jaskier was extroverted and excitable. And while Geralt was handsome with a lean, muscular body, Jaskier had always been too short and too slim for his own liking. It had always been this way since they had met on their first day at Oxenfurt Boys’ School.

Jaskier remembered the moment he first laid eyes on Geralt. If he hadn’t already known that he was gay from a young age, the feelings that stirred in him in that moment would have put any doubts to rest. He had been sitting in his registration room, waiting with nervous excitement to see who his classmates would be for the next six years. As the classroom gradually filled with students, the last person to enter before the teacher closed the door was a tall boy with white blonde hair. The first thing that Jaskier noticed about Geralt (apart from the fact that he was a head taller than everyone else around him) was that instead of wearing the compulsory black leather shoes that Jaskier and every other boy had, he wore a pair of worn red high tops. Jaskier had glanced at his own paltry footwear in that moment and wished that he’d chosen to wear nicer shoes as well.

To Jaskier’s surprise and delight, Geralt had chosen to sit at the empty chair next to him. He recalled being unable to tear his eyes away from the boy, only doing so when bemused amber eyes met his own. Jaskier had quickly turned away then and busied himself doodling in the margins of his notebook. Geralt had yawned then and begun to chew on his thumbnail, which Jaskier noticed was painted black. This discreet act of rebellion sent a rush of excitement up Jaskier’s spine: flouting the compulsory footwear was one thing, but wearing nail polish? At a school like this? This kid was almost certainly guaranteeing himself detention on his first day of term. Through several strategic stolen glances, Jaskier had taken in other little details about Geralt’s appearance: the school tie hanging loose around his neck with the top two buttons of his crumpled shirt undone. The small stud in his left ear. His porcelain pale skin and floppy blonde hair…

It wasn’t until Geralt had proceeded to pull out the contents of his school bag—a collection of jotters, corned beef sandwiches wrapped in clingfilm and a Pepsi Max pencil case—to reveal a Dungeon Master's core rulebook that Jaskier thought to himself, _who is this guy and why aren’t we friends yet?_

“You play D&D?” he had blurted out before he could stop himself.

Geralt’s shoulders had immediately tensed and he covered the title of the book with the palm of his hand. “Yeah, what of it?”

Jaskier had thrust out his hand. “I’m Jaskier, but my friends call me Dandelion. I’m a bard with rogue skills.”

Geralt had stared at Jaskier’s hand for a moment with a shocked expression before a smile had spread across his face and he took Jaskier’s hand. “They call me Geralt, but my real name is The Rivian. I’m a Ranger with potion brewing skills.”

Jaskier couldn’t believe his luck, finding someone who was as big a geek as he was. Unbeknownst to either of them at that moment, that was the beginning of a wonderful friendship. He couldn’t recall any time in the last decade when they hadn’t been in each other’s company or spoken to one another: they’d go to each other’s houses after school and on weekends. And when they went to university, it seemed only natural that they would move into student dorms together. After they’d graduated (Geralt with a degree in Chemistry and Jaskier a bachelor’s in Creative Writing and Drama), they had gotten a flat together and had lived happily ever since then as best friends.

Just best friends.

Okay, so Jaskier might have been madly in love with Geralt since...forever, but he had long since resigned himself to the fact that the feelings weren’t mutual. If they had been, surely Geralt would have said or done something by now. Not that Jaskier would ever make the first move, he wouldn’t want to put their friendship at risk over something as silly as being in love with Geralt.

One thing that had always surprised Jaskier though was that despite Geralt being quite the catch, he’d never had any serious girlfriends. In fact, as far he could recall, Geralt hadn’t had _any_ girlfriends. Come to think of it, he’d never brought anyone back to the flat either. Jaskier had assured him on more than one occasion that he didn’t mind if Geralt brought someone back to the flat, but Geralt had just shrugged and said that he just hadn’t met anyone yet that he’d like to bring home. Not that Jaskier was much of a Casanova either. Other than a handful of ill-advised Grindr hook-ups, the longest lasting relationship he’d had was with Lambert. After dating for a few weeks, Jaskier had finally arranged for his boyfriend and best friend to meet one another. They decided to have a couple of drinks at their local pub, but the meeting couldn’t have gone any worse: Geralt had dismissed Lambert as pig-headed and rude, and Lambert had accused Geralt of being jealous of his relationship with Jaskier. Not surprisingly, Lambert and Jaskier’s relationship didn’t last long after that.

Jaskier shoved two large tupperware boxes filled with their lunches into the fridge and joined Geralt on the couch. Grabbing the spare controller, he asked, “Fancy starting _Dark Souls_ again?”

“Sounds good.”

Jaskier got himself comfortable on the couch, laying his head on the armrest and throwing his legs over Geralt’s lap. Geralt tucked a blanket over their legs and they spent the rest of the evening playing computer games in amicable silence. They might ‘just’ be friends, but Jaskier wouldn’t give it up for anything in the world. It meant too much to him to risk losing it.


	2. Chapter 2

Despite the trip to the Midsummer Festival being entirely Jaskier’s idea, Geralt still struggled to drag him out of his bed the next morning.

“Get out of your pit or I’m driving to the festival myself,” Geralt threatened, placing a fresh cup of tea on Jaskier’s bedside table.

“Why are you up so early?” Jaskier yawned. “It’s still dark outside.”

Geralt threw open the curtains and sunlight poured into the bedroom. Jaskier groaned and pulled the quilt over his head.

“Because in your infinite wisdom, you arranged for us to attend an event that was a fourteen-hour drive from Norwich,” Geralt replied coolly.

With a sharp tug, he pulled Jaskier’s quilt off of the bed and tossed it unceremoniously onto the floor. Jaskier squealed as the cold morning air hit his bare skin and he flailed about trying to find something warm to cover himself with. The closest thing to hand was his silk kimono, which he wrapped around his shivering, goose-pimpled shoulders. He glared at Geralt with sleep-crusted eyes and wasn’t surprised to find that he was already dressed and ready to go.

“Have you packed everything that you need for the trip?” asked Geralt.

“Almost,” Jaskier lied, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “I’ll be ready to go in five minutes.”

It was evident from the bemused expression on Geralt’s face that Jaskier was a terrible liar. “Five minutes, eh? Alright, I’ll just meet you in the van.”

Jaskier waited for Geralt to leave the room before leaping off of his bed and he began throwing everything he’d need for the trip into a rucksack. As much as he enjoyed booking last-minute trips for him and Geralt, packing was always his least favourite part. Twenty minutes later, he was bundling his belongings into the back of Geralt’s rusted VW campervan while Geralt sat waiting patiently for him in the driver’s seat.

“You were quicker than I expected you to be,” he teased as Jaskier climbed into the passenger’s side.

“Funny,” Jaskier replied sarcastically. He squinted at his haphazard appearance in the wing mirror and tried using his fingers in an effort to comb his mussed-up hair. Settling back in his seat, he put on his seatbelt and turned to Geralt. “Okay, I’m ready to go now!”

“About bloody time.”

Geralt turned the key in the ignition and pulled away from the kerb. Before they could make their epic journey across the country, they still had to pick up Jaskier’s friend Triss, who lived on the other side of town. Jaskier had met Triss at university during their acting classes and had a shared passion for musicals. Geralt tolerated Triss for Jaskier’s sake. Thirty minutes later, Geralt pulled into Triss’s street where she was already waiting for them on the edge of the pavement, dressed as though she were ready to attend Woodstock. Sporting huge tortoiseshell sunglasses and a floral maxi dress, she had to hold her wide-brimmed straw hat to her head as a summer breeze threatened to blow it away. Stubbing out her cigarette on the ground with the heel of her sandals, she grinned and waved wildly as she saw the van approach.

Geralt’s eyes narrowed. “Is that a bongo drum on top of her suitcase?”

“Looks like it.”

“Fuck.”

As Jaskier exited the van, Triss pulled him into a tight hug and smacked an affectionate kiss to his cheek. “Namaste, guys! How are you doing?”

“Morning,” Jaskier greeted her brightly while Geralt merely grunted.

Unperturbed by Geralt’s cool reception, Triss gave him a quick hug before they helped transport her luggage into the back of the van. Once Triss climbed aboard, Geralt started the engine again and soon they were on the motorway, the start of a very long journey ahead of them. Triss settled herself in one of the passenger seats and smiled at the pair through the rear view mirror.

“So, are you guys excited about the festival?” she asked conversationally.

“Well, Jaskier said that there would be food and booze, so I’m looking forward to that,” Geralt quipped.

“Well yes, there’s that. But that’s just a small part of the celebrations,” she argued, pulling her tobacco pouch out of her handbag. “Midsummer celebrates the coming of summer, and it’s the time when the sun reaches the peak of its power.”

“Isn’t the festival basically an excuse to have a pissup and dance naked around a bonfire?” he teased.

“For some,” she relented. “But for those of us who are more enlightened, Midsummer is a celebration of life, love and sexual virility.”

“Love?” Geralt scoffed. “So, it’s going to be full of loved-up hippies like yourself? I should have known.”

“I certainly hope so,” she chuckled, holding out a blunt. “Anyone want a smoke?”

“Triss, don’t smoke that shit in my van,” he warned.

“If you don’t want any, you only had to say,” she huffed.

“And if we get pulled over with the van stinking of weed, _I’ll_ be the one losing my bloody licence.”

“Alright, keep your knickers on! I’ll crack a window.” Triss rolled down the window and stuck her head out, the wind blowing her wild, chestnut locks from her sun-kissed face. “Jaskier, do you want some?”

“Maybe later,” he replied, rifling through his rucksack for their food and passing her a plastic tub. “I made you something for the journey.”

Triss’s eyes lit up as she took the proffered tub. “Ooh, quinoa salad! Cheers, love.”

“I figured you’d get the munchies at some point, so I came prepared.”

“You’re a legend,” she gushed, stuffing the tub into the top of her handbag before placing the bongo drum firmly between her knees. “So, I’ve been working on a new tune. Would you guys like to hear it?”

“No,” Geralt replied immediately.

“Of course we would!” Jaskier exclaimed.

Ignoring Geralt’s protestations, Triss began beating the bongo drum in a pleasant rhythm, the many bracelets and bangles adorning her wrists clacking and jangling as she did so. Things took a less pleasant turn, however, when she started to sing. Badly.

“This one's for you, my sweet summer child!” she declared, winking at Jaskier. “Oh, roses are red and your eyes are blue. I like sunsets, but not as much as I love singing with you! Your handsome face, your sweet sparkling soul, your virile hands, your turgid—”

“OKAY!” Jaskier cut in loudly before she could continue. “Thank you, Triss, that was umm…lovely. Very nice indeed.”

“But I still have four more verses to sing.”

“One was more than enough, thanks,” Geralt grumbled.

“Now, there’s no need for that,” said Jaskier.

“Rude,” Triss muttered, glaring at the back of Geralt’s head.

Jaskier unbuckled his seatbelt and clambered into the back of the van, rummaging through their belongings for his guitar. “The song definitely has potential, although may I make some minor suggestions?”

Triss pouted at Jaskier. “Fine. What did you have in mind?”

“Well…” Jaskier sat in the empty seat next to Triss and strummed his guitar. “As it happens, I’ve been working on something too. We could try combining your beat with some of my lyrics.”

Triss looked sceptical, but she shrugged her shoulders and said, “Okay, let’s hear it.”

Jaskier cleared his throat, played the first few notes of his song and began to sing, “These scars long have yearned for your tender caress, to bind our fortunes, damn what the stars own. Rend my heart open, then your love profess, a winding, weaving fate to which we both atone. You flee my dream come the morning. Your scent—orange blossom, sweet grass after rain—to dream of….um…” Jaskier felt the heat rise in his cheeks and he lowered the guitar. “That’s as far as I’ve gotten with it,” he lied.

He looked between Triss and Geralt for their reaction. Geralt had a small smile on his face and he nodded, “Not bad, Bard. Not bad at all.”

“Thank you,” Jaskier replied sheepishly, embarrassed but pleased that Geralt approved. He’d written plenty of songs about Geralt over the years but he’d never let him hear any of them before. Not that he would admit to anyone alive and breathing who the song was really about, of course. Triss, however, shook her head in dismay.

“Christ sake Jaskier, my lyrics are rubbish compared to that!” she exclaimed. Readjusting the bongo drum between her legs, she brushed her mane of wild hair out of her face with a look of determination. “Right. Scrap my crap lyrics, we’ll use yours. Let’s see if we can make some progress on this song of yours, eh?”

They worked on Jaskier’s new song for a couple of hours before he and Triss got bored and began singing their favourite show tunes instead. The impromptu jam session was less appreciated by Geralt, who kept his steely gaze focused on the road ahead, point-blank refusing to sing along with the pair. After another couple of hours belting out show tunes nonstop, Geralt threatened to turn the van around and drive them home if they didn’t pack it in. Triss accused Geralt of being an old grump, but there was no heat in her words. Instead, she periodically stuck her head out of the window with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth, humming along to the radio. As they crossed the border into Scotland, the conversation turned back to the festival.

“So, I did this online course about healing crystals,” Triss began, tucking into her quinoa salad. “And I got chatting to the girl teaching the course—she’s actually from the Isle of Lewis—she’s the one that told me about the festival.”

Geralt drew Jaskier an accusatory sideways glance. Jaskier pretended not to notice, keeping his gaze fixed on the notebook on his lap as he scribbled down more song ideas. Well, of course he’d heard about the festival from Triss, who else did they know that was into all of this mystical airy-fairy nonsense?

“You took an online course on healing crystals?” asked Geralt, sounding unimpressed.

“Yeah, she hosts a whole bunch of courses,” Triss continued unphased. “How to read tea leaves, fire scrying—she teaches slinneanachd as well, but as a vegan I wasn’t keen on learning that one—I took her oculomancy lessons though, that’s been _really_ useful.”

“Oculomancy?” asked Jaskier curiously.

“It’s a form of scrying where the diviner gazes into another person’s eyes and reads the reflections,” she explained.

“Sounds like you were scammed out of your money,” Geralt mused.

Triss clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “I should have guessed that you’d be a sceptic. I’ll have you know that Yen is a very powerful druid; her reputation on the island is unparalleled and she’s building up quite the following online.”

“Really?” said Geralt sarcastically. “And is being a druid a well-paying profession?”

“It’s not a profession, Geralt, it’s a way of life,” she informed him hotly. “You’ll see for yourself if you go visit her. I’m sure she’d be happy to give you a reading, if she can penetrate that thick fog of doubt blocking your third eye.”

The next few hours passed in relative silence, but the further north they drove, the thicker dark-grey clouds began to form in the sky, blocking out the sun entirely as they reached Glasgow.

“I thought you said that the weather was supposed to be good this weekend,” said Geralt accusingly.

“It is!” Jaskier protested.

“To be fair, this is good weather in Scotland,” Triss joked as spots of rain began to hit the windscreen.

Geralt spent the rest of the journey driving through torrential rain, muttering under his breath every so often about Jaskier’s ‘bright ideas’. After encountering several roadworks and the occasional sheep blocking the road on their Highland route, they finally made it to the picturesque village of Ullapool, where they would need to take the ferry to Stornoway, the capital of the Isle of Lewis. Unfortunately for them, it was already late into the evening by the time they pulled up to the port. Having missed the last ferry by several hours, they would have to wait until the next morning to complete the final leg of their journey. Parking on the beachfront, they decided to set up camp for the evening. It was only then that Triss revealed that she had forgotten to bring her tent. Being the gentleman that he is, Geralt grudgingly offered her to sleep in his campervan for the night while he and Jaskier would share the two-man tent.

While Triss made herself comfortable on the fold-out bed in the campervan, Jaskier and Geralt lay side by side inside the incredibly cramped pop-up tent. It took Jaskier’s eyes some time to adjust to the darkness, but he could just see Geralt’s hulking outline by his side, arms crossed over his chest as he glared up at the canvas ceiling while the rain battered down overhead.

“You remembered to bring your guitar and a quinoa salad, but you couldn’t remember to bring your own sleeping bag,” he groused.

“I thought that I had!” Jaskier cried. “And I’m not the one who brought a tent that could barely fit one person, let alone two.”

“Would you rather sleep out in the rain?”

“Obviously not.”

“Well then go to sleep before I throw you out on your arse.”

Jaskier glared at Geralt through the darkness before turning his back on him. He tugged at the nylon quilt to try and cover his shivering body, but it was no use, he just couldn’t warm up. Why had he even suggested going on this trip in the first place? He hated camping. God, he missed the warmth and comfort of his own bed. As stealthily as he could, Jaskier began wiggling his feet closer to Geralt, inch by inch, until he was close enough to press them against Geralt’s calf.

Geralt flinched as Jaskier’s cold feet touched him and asked in a low voice, “What are you doing?”

“I’m cold,” he replied quietly.

“You wouldn’t be cold if you’d remembered to bring your own sleeping bag,” he pointed out. Rather than push him away, Geralt turned to face Jaskier and pulled him closer, spooning him. “Better?”

Jaskier smiled to himself and snuggled closer into Geralt’s embrace, breathing in his scent: warm, faded cologne filled his nostrils and he let out a contented sigh. He could happily stay like this forever. “Mmm, much better.”

“Good. Now go to sleep.”

“You’re like a hot water bottle,” Jaskier noted drowsily.

Geralt huffed out a soft laugh, his breath tickling Jaskier’s ear, but said nothing more. Within minutes, Geralt and Jaskier were sleeping soundly. The last thought that floated through Jaskier’s mind before his dreams carried him away was that no matter what happened next, the trip so far was worth it just for this moment with Geralt.


	3. Chapter 3

Luckily for Geralt and Jaskier, the relentless Scottish rain eased off in the early hours of the morning, so when Jaskier crawled out of the tent at the break of dawn, he was greeted with a glorious sunrise: as the sun bloomed over the horizon, spears of brilliant white light crossed the surrounding hills. The sea, no longer a black abyss, glistened crimson and gold as the gentle waves lapped the white sandy shore. Jaskier was sorely tempted to take off his clothes and go running into the water, but after tentatively dipping his toe in, he had a change of heart. The plume of cigarette smoke drifting out of one of the campervan windows told Jaskier that Triss was awake too, even if the patchwork curtains were still drawn. Jaskier turned back towards the tent when he heard rustling from within, and a moment later, Geralt appeared, looking more tired and angry than usual.

“Morning,” Jaskier yawned. “Sleep well?”

“Did I hell,” Geralt snapped, scratching at his neck and arms. “Those fucking midges ate me alive last night. Look at the state of me!”

Jaskier winced at the sight of the bright red blotches mottling Geralt’s normally flawless pale skin. “Ooft. Does it hurt?”

“No, but it itches like fuck,” he said through gritted teeth, scratching at his arms in a vain attempt to alleviate the irritation. “You didn’t happen to bring any chamomile lotion, did you?”

Jaskier shook his head. “No, sorry. Triss! Do you have any chamomile lotion on you?”

Triss’s frizzy brown mane popped out of the curtains. “What was that?”

“Chamomile lotion,” Jaskier repeated. “Geralt’s covered in midge bites.”

“Oh dear! Nope, sorry, I didn’t bring any. But saltwater’s an excellent natural remedy for relieving the itch of insect bite. You could always go for a dip in the sea.”

Geralt looked from the seafront back to Triss. “Don’t you have any better suggestions?”

“Well, it’s either that or you let Jaskier pee on you,” she shrugged before disappearing behind the curtains again.

Geralt and Jaskier shared a horrified look before Jaskier declared, “I’ll come into the water with you. As a show of solidarity.”

“Appreciate it,” Geralt mumbled, already pulling his t-shirt over his head to reveal his strong arms, firm chest and abdomen. Jaskier both loved and hated it when Geralt took off his clothes; he was beautiful to look at, but since his thoughts were far from honourable, he always felt a tad guilty about it. But not guilty enough to stop himself from stealing a quick glance before he took off his own clothes. Tossing his kimono back inside the tent so that it didn’t get covered in sand, he followed Geralt across the sand and stone beach towards the shore. When Geralt reached the water’s edge, he unceremoniously pulled off his boxers before tossing them aside.

“You’re brave,” Jaskier mused.

“Your boxers aren’t going to stop you from getting cold,” Geralt pointed out.

“Hmm, I suppose not.” Throwing caution to the wind and his briefs over his shoulder, Jaskier and Geralt grinned at each other, keeping their eyes firmly above the waist.

“Ready?” asked Geralt.

“No,” Jaskier admitted before they both proceeded to wade into the water. The second the icy water licked the bare skin of his feet, Jaskier’s eyes widened with shock. “Jesus _fuck_ that’s cold!”

Geralt just laughed and kept moving forward until the water was up to his chest. He turned to face Jaskier, slowly moving his arms through the water as the waves gently nudged him from side to side. “Come on Jaskier, you’re only ankle deep in the water! Come closer.”

Jaskier would have much rathered turn tail and run back to the tent, but instead he gritted his teeth and waded through the water until he was by Geralt’s side. His whole body was rough with goosebumps, all the good that they did him, he could hardly feel his feet as they slipped and slid on the seabed.

“I think my balls have disappeared inside of my body,” he stammered, so cold that he was struggling to catch his breath.

“It is a bit chilly,” said Geralt, a wolfish grin spreading across his face.

“Don’t,” Jaskier warned. “Don’t you bloody dare!”

He knew exactly what Geralt was going to do, and although he tried to move sharply away from Geralt, the treacherous waves only pushed them closer together. Sure enough, Geralt began splashing water at Jaskier, who squealed and swore as his face and hair got drenched.

“Bleurgh! Wanker!” he shouted, splashing him back.

The two laughed and screamed as they fought each other, the cool temperature of the water long forgotten. When Jaskier spat a mouthful of seawater in Geralt’s face, he responded by throwing a handful of seaweed at Jaskier. Jaskier gasped in outrage as he picked seaweed from his hair, so he retaliated by gripping Geralt’s shoulders and jumping on top of him, using his body weight to push him underwater. He laughed triumphantly as Geralt’s head disappeared beneath the waves, only to scream again a moment later when Geralt wrapped his huge arms around Jaskier’s waist and lifted him clean out of the water before tossing him back in again.

Just then, a particularly strong wave rolled over Jaskier, sending him tumbling through the water in all directions until he didn’t know up from down. He felt a stab of panic as he struggled to regain his footing, but then Geralt’s hand slipped into his own and he was easily pulled back onto his feet. Jaskier gasped for air as his face broke the surface of the water, and as he swiped his sodden hair from his face he found all the humour had vanished from Geralt’s face.

“Are you alright?” he asked with a note of worry in his voice.

“I’m freezing cold and soaking wet, what do you think?” Jaskier joked. When Geralt didn’t laugh, Jaskier pulled him into a reassuring hug and patted him on the back. “Honestly, I’m fine! Clearly, I’m no match against you and your freakishly big arms.”

“As long as you’re okay,” said Geralt quietly. “Sorry I nearly drowned you.”

“Yes, but you also rescued me,” Jaskier countered. “So, you’re actually my hero.”

Geralt smiled weakly at him and bowed his head. “If you say so. Um...we should probably get a move on or we’ll miss the ferry.”

It was only when Geralt pulled away that Jaskier realised how close they had been: practically nose to nose with his arms draped over Geralt’s shoulders and Geralt’s hand clasped firmly on his hips...but then Geralt’s hands had slipped away from his waist and he waded back to the shore, leaving Jaskier behind in the chilly water. It felt like there had been a moment and Jaskier had missed it. But he dismissed the idea as quickly as it had entered his head: if there was a moment, it was definitely one-sided. When they made it back to the beach, Triss was waiting for them with two beach towels in hand. She tossed the towels at them as they approached while making a show of covering her eyes with her free hand.

“Did you guys enjoy your swim?” she asked.

“I prefer the temperature of the seawater at Gozo,” said Jaskier, tucking the towel around his waist as he scoured the beach for his discarded briefs.

“What about you, Geralt?” she asked. “Is your skin feeling better?”

“Surprisingly so,” he admitted, towelling his hair. “Thanks for the tip.”

“No problem,” she smirked. “Jaskier, I popped your underwear back inside your tent. I didn’t want a seagull pinching your knickers. ”

Jaskier paused in his fruitless search and turned to face an amused looking Triss. “Oh. Thanks.”

“So...do you guys go skinny dipping together often?” she asked innocently, but her cheshire grin was far from chaste.

“You were more than welcome to join us, but I didn’t think you’d want to get your ciggies wet,” said Geralt before he disappeared back inside his tent to get dressed.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to interrupt,” she teased, winking at Jaskier.

“Whatever you’re insinuating, it wasn’t like that,” he bristled.

“Of course, it wasn’t!” she replied sarcastically. “I hug my best friend naked in the sea all of the time.”

Jaskier felt the heat rise in his cheeks but he chose not to dignify her comment with a response. It took the friends another three hours crossing the ferry to Stornoway, but by early afternoon on that Saturday morning, after an epic drive from Norwich, they finally arrived at the Midsummer Festival. Geralt’s van trundled slowly through the single high street of Callanish to the campsite on the outskirts of the picturesque village. The surrounding green fields and turquoise-blue ocean were swallowed out of sight amongst a sea of fabric tents and festival flags that stretched out as far the eye could see. People dressed similarly to Triss milled about the tent village, basking in the morning sun as a set of drums and fiddles played somewhere in the distance. When Geralt finally found a free spot for them to park the van and set up camp, Jaskier stepped out of the van and breathed in the distinct festival aroma: suntan lotion, burning blunts, dewy grass and smoky barbeques. Lovely.

“Thank god it finally stopped raining, eh?” said Triss brightly, pulling her luggage out of the van. “It wouldn’t be much of a festival if it was pissing it down the whole time.”

“Well, at least one of us was safe inside a warm, dry campervan last night,” Geralt sneered, stepping out of the van to stretch his arms and legs.

“Oh, quit your whining. You’ll have the van to yourselves for the rest of the weekend.” Triss huffed as she threw her heavy backpack onto one shoulder and picked up her bongo drum with her free hand. “You’ll be happy to hear that I’ve already made arrangements to stay with someone else.”

“Who?” asked Jaskier curiously.

“Yen, my druid friend.”

“The fortune-teller,” said Geralt with a note of disdain in his voice.

“And entrepreneur.”

“A charlatan,” Geralt teased.

Triss rolled her eyes “Whatever. I’ll meet up with you guys later when the Maypole dance starts.”

“Where’s that happening?” asked Jaskier. Triss pointed over the tops of the tents towards a single hill a short distance away. Atop the hill was a circle of granite stones arranged in a circle with a monolith at its centre. The standing stones reached up into the cerulean blue sky like giant’s fingers. “What is that?”

“The Calanais Standing Stones,” she explained. “They’re the source of the island’s magic. That’s why the Midsummer festival’s held here every year.”

“Huh.” Jaskier stared at the standing stones, surprised and a little embarrassed that he hadn’t noticed them until now. “They’re quite big, aren’t they?”

“How very observant of you,” Geralt quipped.

“As I was saying, the Maypole dance starts in…” Triss checked her wristwatch. “Two hours. I’ll meet you guys then, yeah? See you in a bit!”

Without another word, Triss waved them off and disappeared into the crowd of colourful festival goers, leaving Geralt and Jaskier alone.

“Finally, some peace and quiet,” said Geralt, sounding relieved.

“Oh, she’s not that bad,” Jaskier argued. “Sure, she’s a bit disorganised—”

“Scatty, you mean.”

“Well, yes. But she’s a good laugh, isn’t she?”

“She’s as fun as a stone in my shoe,” Geralt shot back.

“Humour is subjective,” Jaskier argued. He hooked his and Geralt’s arms together and gave him a slight tug. “Come on, let’s go exploring before we head to the Maypole dance.”

Geralt rolled his eyes but followed Jaskier’s lead. Their first port of call was a food stall: once Geralt had filled his stomach with fish and chips (caught locally, the vendor had assured them), his mood picked up considerably. He hardly complained when Jaskier dragged them to another stall, this time to get their faces painted. Jaskier got a pair of dandelions painted on his cheeks, while Geralt eventually settled on having a white wolf painted across the top half of his face like a Venetian eye mask.

“What is the point of this?” he asked as the artist applied cold paint to his forehead.

“We’re at a festival with loads of Scots, hippies and druids; we want to look the part, don’t we?” said Jaskier. “We’ll need to find more suitable clothes for you as well.”

“What’s wrong with the clothes I’m wearing?” asked Geralt defensively.

“Nothing! But aren’t you boiling in those jeans?”

Geralt glanced down at his skin-tight black denims and shifted in his seat. “Maybe a little…”

“You’re only a _little_ bit boiling hot? Sure thing, Geralt. Not to worry, though,” Jaskier patted him on the shoulder. “I saw the perfect outfit for you at one of the pop-up shops.”

Geralt didn’t look as though he entirely trusted what Jaskier was up to, but if he had any reservations, he chose to keep them to himself. A few minutes later, Geralt’s face painting was finished. The artist handed him a small mirror and he scrutinised his reflection from various angles.

“Looks alright,” he said. “What do you think?”

 _Strangely arousing,_ thought Jaskier. “Looks good! It suits you.”

Geralt grunted and passed the mirror back to the artist. If he wasn’t keen on the face painting, Jaskier wondered how he’d react to the outfit he’d spotted for him. Geralt took some persuasion to buy a kilt, but after Jaskier gushed about how handsome he looked in it, Geralt finally relented. Jaskier couldn’t help but admire how the heavy wool tartan skirt would swish from side to side, brushing against Geralt’s muscular thighs.

“You don’t think I look silly wearing this?” asked Geralt uncertainly.

“Definitely not,” said Jaskier, making a mental note to buy a couple more kilts for Geralt’s birthday.

Jaskier proceeded to drag Geralt around the various crafting tents: Geralt wasn’t particularly interested in crafting jewellery or printmaking, but he did enjoy watching a wood sculptor expertly carve a magnificent stag from a large block of oak. He was less keen, however, at the prospect of making a floral crown for himself. But when Jaskier pointed out that everyone else was wearing them and that he’d look silly without it, he grudgingly grabbed some flowers from the stall table and began constructing his own.

Jaskier popped his completed floral garland on top of his head and admired his reflection in one of the nearby mirrors: globeflowers and meadow buttercups adorned his hair like a golden crown, and he thought that he looked particularly fetching with the bright yellow dandelions painted on his cheeks. He turned to Geralt and struck a pose. “What do you think?”

Geralt—sporting a crown of meadowsweet and a bemused expression—gave him a quick once-over. “Adorable.”

“You jest, but thank you,” he preened, grabbing Geralt’s hand. “Come on! It’s almost time for the Maypole dance.”

Geralt let out a weary sigh but allowed Jaskier to guide him out of the tent. They followed the thronging crowd towards the standing stones where a tall maypole had been erected. Jaskier kept his eye out for Triss, but it was difficult to find her amongst the sea of floral headdresses and similarly wild hair.

“Where is she?” he wondered to himself.

“Dunno, but I can’t see shit from here,” said Geralt, tightening his grip on Jaskier’s hand. “Come on, let’s get nearer to the front.”

Jaskier and Geralt pressed forward until they reached the front of the crowd. The festival-goers stood in a large circle around the maypole while several people dressed in flowing white gowns stood at the base of the pole holding colourful silk ribbons. The chatter in the crowd was silenced by the shrill wail of bagpipes and the deep pulsing beat of drums and the people at the base of the maypole began to sway from side to side. At first, they moved slowly, walking towards the centre of the maypole and back again before sidestepping the person next to them like an elegant waltz. The tempo of the music sped up and the movement of the dancers increased in tandem, and soon their bodies were weaving back and forth and side to side in a flurry of colour as they danced in circles. Jaskier thought that they looked like forest nymphs, prancing across the grass barefoot amongst the ancient standing stones, performing some sort of secret ritual. Round and round the maypole they went, interlacing an intricate crisscross pattern down the length of the pole with the ribbons and their bodies.

So entranced by the magical display before his eyes, Jaskier jumped slightly when Geralt tapped him on the shoulder and pointed towards the opposite side of the maypole. Following Geralt’s line of sight, he saw Triss smiling and waving enthusiastically at them. Jaskier waved back but his eyes were immediately drawn to the woman on her left. Slim with raven black hair and dark eyes, she paid neither the dancers nor the cheering crowd any mind; while everyone else was smiling and wearing bright colours, she was dressed head to toe in black, and her gaze was fixed intently on Jaskier. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and he had the unsettling feeling that she could see right into his head and read his thoughts.

The uproarious cheer from the crowd drew Jaskier back to his surroundings, and he looked up to see the maypole had been completed. As the dancers bowed and the crowd dispersed, Triss came running towards them.

“I was worried you guys were going to miss it!” she cried. “What did you think?”

“I’m gagging for a pint,” Geralt announced, scanning his surroundings for the nearest beer tent.

Triss tutted disapprovingly and led them back towards the campsite to get them fresh drinks. Jaskier looked over his shoulder several times for the strange woman, but she had disappeared amongst the crowd.


	4. Chapter 4

Jaskier quickly forgot about the mysterious woman in black and the rest of the day passed in a pleasant blur of drinks and carnival rides: Geralt only agreed to take a spin on the teacups after he had had a go on the dodgems. He was less keen, however, to go on the pendulum ride with Triss, so he opted to ride the merry-go-round with Jaskier instead. After going on the swing ride, the helter-skelter and waltzers, Triss (who Jaskier thought was looking a little green around the gills) declared that she’d had enough of the funfair for one day and was heading to the shisha tent to ‘catch her breath’. Jaskier and Geralt continued to work their way around each ride at the carnival, and as the sky turned dark and night beckoned, they hopped onto the ferris wheel so that they could get a bird's eye view of the festivities below.

“So, what do you fancy doing next?” asked Jaskier.

Geralt shrugged. “We could always go on the dodgems again.”

Jaskier scanned the ground for the bumper car ride but when he found it, he shook his head. “The queue’s massive right now. We can go back later. Oh! How about we check out the silent disco? That’ll be starting up soon.”

Geralt pulled a face. “You know that I don’t like dancing.”

“Urgh, you’re so boring,” he sighed. “We could always sit with Triss in the shisha tent?”

“Hmm, I don’t fancy smelling like an ashtray.”

“Well, what do you suggest?”

Geralt quirked a smile at him. “We could always go for another swim.”

As much as Jaskier would love to see Geralt disrobe twice in one day, he laughed and shook his head. “It’s a bit cold for that, I reckon.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Geralt conceded. He was silent for a moment before he cleared his throat and suggested, “We um...we could always just head back to the campervan.”

Jaskier frowned at him. “Turn in for the night? It’s barely past ten!”

“I’m not saying that we go to sleep,” Geralt retorted. “I thought that we could do something else. Something fun.”

“And the carnival isn’t fun?”

“It’s alright,” he replied, rummaging through his sporran. “But what if I told you...that secret catacombs have opened beneath the city of Cintra, and it’s guarded by ancient undead who will let no one pass?”

Geralt pressed something small and hard into the palm of Jaskier’s hand. It was a plastic figurine with a feather cap holding a lute—Jaskier’s Dungeons and Dragons character, Dandelion the Bard. Jaskier looked up sharply at Geralt. “You brought a campaign book with you?”

“Maybe.”

“We drove to the other side of the country to attend a midsummer festival—to partake in far too much rich food, alcohol and sunshine—and you want to play D&D?”

“Don’t judge me.” Geralt smirked at Jaskier. “You know that you want to play with me.”

Jaskier fixed Geralt with a steely glare. “Is there treasure to be plundered in the catacombs?”

“Of course.”

“Right.” Jaskier pocketed the figurine. “Let’s get off this bloody ride and get back to the campervan.”

As the pair made their way back to the campsite, Jaskier’s eyes fell on a gilded horse-drawn carriage and he stopped dead in his tracks.

“Ooh, check that out!” he exclaimed, pointing at the carriage. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen before: highly decorated with an intricately carved wooden exterior painted green and red. Four steep wooden steps led to the entrance, where instead of a door was a purple velvet curtain. Jaskier hurried towards the vardo and noticed a sign at the foot of the stairs.

_The World Famous Romani Rose - Ancestor of the Brahan Seer!_

_My power is passed on from my father. Let me help you follow your destiny—read your future, advise you on matters of the heart, health and finance—you will not be disappointed._

Jaskier turned to Geralt and grinned. “You fancy giving it a go?”

“I’d rather listen to Triss sing and play her bongo all night,” he grumbled. “Oh, don’t give me that look, you know that I hate all of this fortune telling crap.”

“I know, but it’ll be a laugh!” Jaskier argued, already ascending the steps. “Maybe she’ll tell us next week’s lottery numbers. Come on, just humour me.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and followed. “Fine. But I get to be the dungeon master tonight.”

“Deal.”

Jaskier raised his fist to knock on the door then paused when he remembered there wasn’t one, so he knocked on the side of the wagon instead. A soft, lyrical voice called for them to ‘come in’ and Jaskier pushed back the heavy curtain and beckoned a reluctant Geralt inside. When he entered the small, cramped carriage, he choked as his nostrils were assaulted with the sickly strong smell of incense and sandalwood. Stepping further into the dimly lit room, he noticed that it was crammed with everything that you would expect a respectable fortune teller to have: worn, dog-eared books on magic, runes and I ching adorned the shelves alongside healing stones, teacups and crystal balls of all shapes, colours and sizes. At the centre of the room was a circular table draped in red velvet, and sat behind the table, to Jaskier’s surprise, was the woman in black. A thin smile stretched across her lips when she saw Jaskier and suddenly he was less keen to have his future foretold after all. There was something unsettling about the way that she was looking at him, but as she beckoned for them to sit on the pouffes in front of the table, his feet seemed to move of their own accord towards the mysterious woman.

“Welcome, gentlemen. Please, make yourselves comfortable.” Geralt huffed at that request as the pair struggled to sit side by side, their knees pressed together on the small wagon floor. The fortune teller cast her shockingly violet eyes over them. “So, what can I do for you today?”

“You’re the psychic, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you know why we’re here already?” Geralt challenged.

Jaskier elbowed Geralt in the ribs and shot him a warning look as a flicker of annoyance flashed across the fortune teller’s face. “I never claimed to be a psychic, I merely give people insight into what their future holds. Although, it doesn’t take a psychic to know that you’re only here because your friend here asked you to come along.”

“Hmm, maybe you’re psychic after all,” Geralt joked.

The fortune teller assessed Geralt in silent contemplation for a few tense moments before she spoke again. “Tell you what: since you're the sceptic in the room, why don’t we do your reading first? Get this over and done with and then you can wait for your friend outside while I do his?”

Geralt gave a careless shrug. “Suits me. So, what now? Do you need to dig out a ouija board or something?”

“No, nothing like that, Gadje,” she smirked. She seemed to produce a deck of Tarot cards from thin air and slid them across the table towards Geralt. “Shuffle the cards, please. We need to spread your energy through them first before we can begin.”

Geralt pursed his lips but did as instructed, overhand shuffling the deck a few times before sitting them back facedown on the table. She then spread the deck across the table and instructed him to pick five cards at random, which she then arranged into the shape of a cross before stowing away the unused cards. The first card that she turned over showed three women raising goblets in celebration to one another. Strangely, it reminded Jaskier of himself, Geralt and Triss.

“The Three of Cups,” the fortune teller explained. “The bonds of friendship between you two are strong.”

“Well, we are best friends,” said Jaskier proudly. “Have been since our first day of high school.”

An amused smile flickered across the fortune teller’s face. “I can see that,” she said before turning over the next card which showed a naked man and woman standing beneath an angel.

“The Lovers?” said Jaskier, reading the writing on the card aloud. “Ooh, does this mean that he fancies someone?”

“You’re in love,” said the fortune teller, looking up at Geralt. “But the card is in reverse; you don’t think that the feelings are reciprocated.” The corner of Geralt’s mouth twitched but he said nothing. Jaskier was suddenly very aware of the feeling of his heart pounding: _Geralt was in love?_ When the fortune teller turned over the next card, it showed a maiden petting a fearsome wolf.

“Strength in reverse,” she said. “Despite the strength of your feelings, you still doubt yourself: you’re afraid that if you tell this person how you really feel, they will reject you.”

What little colour Geralt held drained from his face and the fortune teller smiled at the silent confirmation. The room was suddenly stiflingly warm and Jaskier’s mind was racing: based on Geralt’s reaction, what the fortune teller said was true. She turned over the fourth card to reveal an old man holding a lantern.

“The Hermit in reverse,” she said with a note of pity in her voice. “You’re lonely, aren’t you, Geralt? You have a million things that you need to tell this person but you can never find the right words. You’re always looking for an excuse to be close to them but you can never touch them the way that you really want to. You would give them the world if you could, refuse them nothing...but you’d rather spend your life alone than risk telling them the truth and losing them forever.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Geralt in a low, rough voice.

“You’ve been in love with them for so long, you often wonder how they can’t tell.”

“Stop it.”

“You’ve been dreaming a lot, haven’t you?” she continued. “About dandelions and songbirds. For cornflower blue eyes and tender caresses—”

“Shut up!” Geralt snapped, slamming his fist against the table.

The fortune teller looked unruffled by Geralt’s outburst but Jaskier was shocked to hear a genuine note of panic in his voice. Geralt’s anger dissipated as quickly as it had arisen and he cast a worried look between the fortune teller and the last card that was yet to be revealed.

“What’s the matter?” she asked innocently. “Are you afraid that I’m going to tell you something that you don’t want to hear?” Her eyes flitted towards Jaskier. “Something you don’t want _him_ to hear?”

“No, because this is all a load of bollocks,” he snarled, quickly rising to his feet. “You ‘psychics’ are all a bunch of frauds and I’ve had enough of your parlour tricks. Come on, Jaskier, let’s get out of here.”

Jaskier called after Geralt but he marched out of the carriage without stopping. Jaskier turned to look at the fortune teller with a questioning expression, but she simply shrugged and popped a cigarette into her mouth. “You’d be surprised how many people have the same reaction when I read them their cards.”

“Okay, I’m not quite sure what the hell just happened,” said Jaskier as he clambered back onto his feet. “But you really freaked him out—and me, for that matter—so I think I’ll just take my leave.”

“You don’t want your future told?”

“No, I think I’ve had enough fortune telling for one day. Thanks very much, this was um...unsettling.”

“Wait just a second,” the fortune teller called after Jaskier as he turned to leave and she held out her hand. “Your friend might have ran out before I finished his reading but you still need to pay.”

“Oh. Right, of course. How much?” he asked, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket.

“Ten pounds, please.”

 _“Ten quid?”_ Jaskier exclaimed. “That’s bloody steep.”

“I’m good at what I do,” she argued unabashedly.

Jaskier muttered under his breath as he pulled a crisp ten pound note from his pocket, but just as the fortune teller was about to pluck it from his fingers, he pulled it out of reach. “Be honest with me—I’ll pay you either way—were you telling the truth? Were you really predicting Geralt’s fortune or were you just like, cold reading him, or something?”

“You mean is your best friend head over heels in love with you?” she asked flatly. “Lad, you don’t need to be a psychic to know that. It’s written all over his face: he’s mad about you.”

Jaskier drew her a sceptical look. “If that’s true, then why hasn’t he ever said anything?”

“I could ask you the same question,” she shot back. The fortune teller took a long draw from her cigarette before flipping over the final card and smiled to herself when she revealed a white wolf staring up at a lone star in the sky. “Ah! The Star. Figures...”

“What does it mean?”

“It symbolises a test of faith,” she explained, exhaling smoke from her nostrils. “These cards don’t reveal anything new: it’s clear that you two have loved—been in love with—each other for a very long time, but neither of you have had the courage to speak up.” She picked up the tarot card with the star on it and pressed it into Jaskier’s hand. “All the cards are suggesting is that you both have a little faith and admit how you really feel. Your friendship is strong enough to survive whatever happens next.”

Jaskier turned the card over in his hand. “I still don’t know if you’re telling the truth…”

The fortune teller sighed and tapped the cigarette ash into a small silver ashtray on the shelf beside her. “You flee my dream come the morning. Your scent—orange blossom, sweet grass after rain—to dream of ashen locks entwisted, stormy. Of amber eyes, glistening as you weep. The wolf I will follow into the storm to find your heart.”

Jaskier felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. “How...I haven’t even written that part of the song down yet.”

The fortune teller smiled knowingly at him. “I told you already, I’m good at what I do. Now skedaddle out of here and talk to that friend of yours. He’s probably back at your campervan feeling sorry for himself.”

Jaskier pulled an additional ten pound note out of his wallet and handed the money over. “Thank you. This has been truly terrifying.”

“My pleasure,” she preened, slipping the money down the front of her corset. “Good luck.”


	5. Chapter 5

As neither man could quite meet the eye of the other, the walk back to the campervan was filled with awkward silence. Geralt kept his gaze fixed straight ahead as they made their way through the crowds of cheerful revellers, passing the dodgems without so much as a second glance. Jaskier stared at his feet as they walked, his mind still racing over what the fortune teller had said. He’d never allowed himself to hope that Geralt might feel the same way; it was easier just to tell himself it was never a possibility. But now, it seemed that not only was it a possibility, it was a certainty, apparently written in the stars—well, tarot cards, if he wanted to be precise. He ran his index finger across the edge of the tarot card in his pocket.

 _Have a little faith,_ the fortune teller had said. Easy for her to say when he could lose everything that he cared about in a heartbeat if she was wrong.

But then she had known the lyrics to the song he had written about Geralt, lyrics that he had kept locked away safely in his own head for fear that someone might stumble across them. Despite their reservations about fortune tellers, it seemed that the Romani Rose was the genuine article.

Geralt slowed his pace as the campervan came into sight. Jaskier suspected that he was trying to delay the awkward conversation that they would have to endure when they got there. Maybe Geralt would just keep walking right past the campervan? They could both just walk all night, thought Jaskier hopefully. Walk for the rest of their lives, not talking about what had just happened. Yes, that sounded incredibly appealing.

When they finally reached the campervan, Geralt fumbled with the keys to open the door, cursing under his breath as he did so.

“Do you need a hand?” Jaskier offered, reaching out.

But Geralt pulled away and snapped, ‘I’m fine’, so Jaskier let his hand fall by his side. When Geralt finally managed to unlock the door, he threw it open and climbed inside, switching on the lights before beelining straight for the small sink in the kitchenette. Jaskier closed the door behind him and sat on the edge of the fold-out bed. He watched Geralt splash water on his face, washing off the last of the faded face paint from earlier in the day. He tried to swallow but his throat felt constricted with nerves; he really didn’t want to be the one to have to start this conversation.

“Geralt—”

“Why did you drag me to see a psychic when you know that I don’t like them?” Geralt demanded as he roughly dried his face with a hand towel.

“I dunno, I thought it’d be fun,” Jaskier replied weakly. “I didn’t think it’d be like…” _Intense. Invasive. Scarily accurate._ He took a deep breath and asked, “Is it true?”

“What?” said Geralt, tossing the towel aside.

“What she said,” Jaskier pressed. “About you...how you feel about me.”

Geralt sighed and gripped both sides of the basin. “Why are we even talking about this? You know that it’s all a load of rubbish, right? These so-called psychics, they’ll just say and do anything they can to get a reaction out of you and fleece you out of your money.”

“So, it’s _not_ true?” When Geralt didn’t answer, Jaskier argued, “Even if she isn’t a psychic and she’s just an exceptionally convincing bullshitter, that there wasn’t some truth to her words. So...is it true or isn’t it?”

Despite his face expressing a storm of emotions, Geralt still said nothing. It was unnerving for Jaskier to see Geralt like this, so afraid and unsure of himself. He leaned over and tentatively reached for Geralt’s hand. When Geralt didn’t withdraw, Jaskier pulled him over to the bed, and Geralt followed without resistance. He flopped down next to Jaskier, his shoulders hunched and head bowed. He looked like he had a physical weight bearing down on him, and it was ready to crush him at any moment. Jaskier hated seeing him like this, and hated it even more that he was the cause of his misery.

“Umm...just after you left, the fortune teller gave me this,” he said, pulling the tarot card from his pocket and showing it to Geralt. “It was the final card from your reading.”

Geralt glanced at the card and pulled a face. “Let me guess: I’m doomed to be alone forever. Either that or I’m destined to be eaten by a great bloody wolf.”

Jaskier chuckled, “Not quite. She um...she said that it symbolised a test of faith. That whatever happens, our friendship is strong enough to survive it.”

Geralt sighed and shook his head. “You say that without knowing what you’re asking of me.”

“You don’t trust me to hear the truth?”

Geralt’s expression turned shameful. “I don’t want to ruin things between us.”

As far as Jaskier was concerned, that was as close to an admission of his feelings as he was ever going to get from Geralt. Sometimes, Geralt being the strong, silent type was infuriatingly frustrating. “You won’t ruin anything! You couldn’t. You’re the most important person in my life, so no matter what you have to say, it couldn’t change how I feel about you.”

Far from his words reassuring Geralt, he let out a derisive snort. “It would change everything.”

“It might,” Jaskier relented. “It might change everything for the better.”

Geralt didn’t look convinced by Jaskier’s assurances. Outwardly, Jaskier was trying to keep his cool but he was silently begging for Geralt to be the brave one and just admit how he felt. But once again, they were at a stalemate: neither one of them were willing to put themselves on the line and just be honest—with each other or themselves. It struck Jaskier then that he didn’t say something right now, then he never would. With that realisation, it occurred to Jaskier then that perhaps he was the one whose faith was being tested.

“What if I told you that I didn’t want us to be friends any more?” he blurted out. Geralt flinched as though the words had struck him and Jaskier cursed himself for his tactlessness. “No, that’s—sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” he stammered. “What I mean to say is...what if I said that being friends with you isn’t enough? Not anymore.”

Geralt stilled. “Then what do you want?”

Jaskier swallowed hard but his mouth was suddenly bone dry. He turned slightly to face Geralt, knocking their knees together. He suddenly felt like an awkward teenager again as he reached out with a shaking hand to cup Geralt’s cheek. Geralt’s eyelids fluttered as the tips of Jaskier’s fingers grazed his skin and carded through the silky soft hair at the nape of his neck.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Taking a leap of faith,” Jaskier whispered, and closed the distance between them.

Jaskier felt Geralt’s breath hitch as he kissed him lightly on the lips. When Geralt didn’t pull away, he tentatively swiped his tongue across Geralt’s lips, and his heart soared as Geralt’s eyes slid shut and he opened his mouth, deepening the kiss. When Geralt slid his fingers through Jaskier’s hair, he moaned into the kiss, and suddenly there was something less tentative and more desperate in Geralt’s movements as his right hand fisted Jaskier’s hair, pulling him closer. As much as he had dreamed of this moment, Jaskier had worried that kissing Geralt would be strange. On the contrary, it felt like the most natural thing in the world, and it felt wonderful. His brain felt sluggish as they continued to kiss, lost in a thick fog of desire and ragged breaths. Jaskier didn’t know how long they held each other like that—clutching one another as though their very lives depended on it—but all too soon, Geralt let out a strangled sound and pulled away. The elation Jaskier had felt only moments before evaporated and turned to panic and confusion.

“What’s the matter?” he panted. He tried to stroke Geralt’s cheek again, but Geralt grabbed Jaskier’s hand and rested it on his lap.

“Why are you doing this?” asked Geralt with a pained expression. “Why now?”

Jaskier stammered. “I…”

“Is it because of what she said?” he cut in. “Because I’m telling you now, if this is just some holiday fling or you satisfying your curiosity, I can’t do that.”

“It’s not!” Jaskier cried. “I want you, Geralt. I...I want us to be together.”

Geralt shook his head sadly. “You’ve no idea how much I want to believe you.”

“Then why don’t you?” said Jaskier angrily. “What do I have to do to prove to you that I mean what I say?”

Jaskier couldn’t believe it. _He_ was the one that had been in love with Geralt for years, but Geralt was so stubborn and lacking in confidence that he still couldn’t believe Jaskier’s feelings for him were genuine despite having just snogged his bloody face off. The image of the fortune teller smirking at Jaskier popped into his head and suddenly, he was struck with the perfect way to prove to Geralt that he really was in love with him and not just ‘satisfying his curiosity’ (honestly, the nerve of him to even suggest such a thing). Geralt startled when Jaskier suddenly got to his feet and grabbed his guitar from the front passenger seat of the van. Sitting back next to Geralt, he cleared his throat and strummed the strings a few times to tune it.

“You want proof of how I really feel? Fine. You know that song that I’ve been working on? The one that I said that I hadn’t finished yet? I lied,” he admitted. Taking a deep, shaky breath, he played the first note of the song that was about to make or break their friendship. “The wolf I will follow into the storm to find your heart, its passion displaced by ire ever growing, hardening into stone, amidst the cold to hold you in a heated embrace….”

Jaskier closed his eyes as he sang the next verse, unable to look at Geralt’s face any longer. “You flee my dream come the morning. Your scent—orange blossom, sweet grass after rain—to dream of ashen locks entwisted, stormy. Of amber eyes, glistening as you weep.” Geralt’s eyes widened with shock at the musical confession, but Jaskier forced himself to continue. “I know not if fate would have us live as one, or if by love’s blind chance we’ve been bound. The wish I whispered, when it all began: did it forge a love you might never have found? You flee my dream come morning…”

Without warning, Geralt placed his hand on top of Jaskier’s, and the song came to an abrupt end. Jaskier forced himself to open his eyes to find Geralt staring at him with an unreadable expression and he wondered if serenading him had been such a brilliant idea after all. He sat the guitar beside him and gave Geralt a wry smile.

“So you see, I was telling the truth when I told you that it didn’t matter what you said—that it couldn’t change the way I feel about you—because I already love you, Geralt. A great deal more than a best friend should. I’m _in_ love with you, actually,” he admitted with a nervous laugh. “I have been for a long time. Surprise.”

“Why did you never say anything before?” asked Geralt.

Jaskier shrugged. “Same reason as you, I imagine: I didn’t think you felt the same way—and I didn’t want to screw things up between us. I was terrified that if you found out how I really felt about you that I’d lose you.”

“You’ll never lose me, Jaskier,” Geralt assured him gently. “I don’t know if you noticed but I’m rather fond of you.”

“Really?” said Jaskier, half-joking and half-hopeful. Geralt rolled his eyes.

“I dropped everything to go to a random festival on the other side of the country to get eaten alive by midges and interrogated by psychics, all just so that I could spend the weekend with you. What do you think?” he quipped.

“Well, when you put it like that, I suppose it does seem pretty obvious,” Jaskier relented with a cheeky grin.

“For some reason, I can never say no to you,” said Geralt fondly. “We’re a pair of idiots, aren’t we?”

“Speak for yourself,” Jaskier huffed. “But yes, I rather wish that we’d had the courage to be honest with each other long before now.”

“Better late than never I suppose,” said Geralt quietly. “You’re so much braver than I am, you know that?”

“I’m funnier and better looking, too,” Jaskier joked before grimacing. “Sorry, now’s not the time to joke, is it?”

“It’s fine,” Geralt chuckled. “But you are brave. You always have been. I remember our first day at Oxenfurt; I was this awkward, geeky kid with no friends and an obsession for _Dungeons and Dragons.”_

 _“What?”_ Jaskier couldn’t help but laugh. “You were, like, the _coolest_ person I’d ever seen. You had long hair and nail polish—and sneakers! And then when I saw that Dungeon Master book...I was a goner.”

“I didn’t feel very cool,” Geralt laughed. “Honestly, I thought high school was going to be a living hell—but then I met you. I was too scared to even look at anyone else, let alone talk to them. But _you_...well, after you introduced yourself, you immediately put me at ease and I knew then that everything was going to be alright.”

“Oh, Geralt…”

“You’ve always marched to the beat of your own drum,” he continued. “It’s something I’ve always admired about you.” He reached out and traced his thumb across Jaskier’s cheek, which sent a pleasant shiver down Jaskier’s spine. “Even when you’ve been afraid, you’ve never let it hold you back. I should try and take a leaf out of your book sometime, shouldn’t I?”

His gaze flitted from Jaskier’s eyes to his lips and suddenly— _finally_ —Geralt kissed him. Jaskier lost all sense of time then. It could be minutes or hours that they stayed like that: kissing, sucking, biting at each other’s lips between heavy breaths. When Geralt gently pushed Jaskier against the bed, he gladly followed, only to grunt in pain a moment later when the acoustic guitar dug into his spine.

“Argh! Bollocks,” he hissed, pulling it out from under him and tossing it off of the bed.

The guitar clanged horribly when it clattered against the floor, but he couldn’t have cared less. His focus was entirely on Geralt who had crawled on top of him, his normally brilliant amber eyes dark with want. He slid his fingers vertically down Jaskier’s neck before clasping the side of it in a possessive grip, stroking Jaskier’s sun-kissed skin with his thumb.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he breathed. “How long I’ve wanted you.”

“Then take me already,” Jaskier demanded, pulling him closer.

Geralt eagerly complied, crushing their lips together in a messy kiss. Geralt’s hand slid from Jaskier’s throat down the length of his body and between his legs, and he began palming the erection straining Jaskier’s shorts. Jaskier moaned, arching his back and rutting his hips against Geralt’s hand.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Geralt groaned. He rolled over onto his side and gave Jaskier’s shorts a sharp tug at the waistband. “Take these off.”

Jaskier was too caught up in the moment to feel shy about the request, lifting his hips off of the bed and practically tearing off his shorts and boxers in one swift motion. Geralt’s eyes looked almost black as he dragged his gaze over Jaskier’s body.

“You like?” he asked with a cheeky grin.

Geralt nodded mutely, his eyes fixed on Jaskier’s cock. He tentatively reached out and took a firm grip of Jaskier’s length, giving it a torturously slow stroke up and down the shaft.

“Holy shit…” Jaskier whimpered, thudding his head back against the mattress. He clenched his eyes shut and held his breath, trying to distract himself enough from exploding all over Geralt’s hand like a bloody teenager.

“You like?” asked Geralt in a low, teasing voice.

“What do you think?” Jaskier laughed breathlessly. He reached out to touch Geralt, but Geralt grabbed him by the wrist and pinned it above his head.

“Not yet,” he said, shaking his head.

“I want to make you feel good, too.”

“There’s plenty of time for that. Let me do this for you. Please.”

Somewhat reluctantly, Jaskier nodded and relaxed into the bed, raising his other hand above his head. Geralt took hold of both of Jaskier’s wrists in one hand while the other stroked Jaskier’s already leaking cock. Goosebumps erupted across Jaskier’s skin as he felt Geralt’s hot breath against his neck, then the tender brush of lips against his ear.

“Tell me...when you touch yourself, do you think about me?” Geralt whispered.

Jaskier felt a spike of arousal at those words. He never expected Geralt to be the vocal type in the bedroom, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. He licked the sweat from his top lip and nodded, “Yeah. All the time.”

Geralt groaned and began pumping Jaskier’s cock a little faster. “Is that right? When’s the last time you touched yourself thinking about me?”

“Mmm, a couple nights ago,” Jaskier panted. “I um— _urgh_ —I really wanted to touch myself last night, too.”

“When we were sharing the tent?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck. I’d have enjoyed watching you do that,” said Geralt, his voice low and rough. He dragged his tongue over the shell of Jaskier’s ear and Jaskier squirmed with pleasure, both frustrated by and relishing Geralt’s teasing. “Maybe you could put on a show for me sometime.”

“I’ll do it for you right now, if you like,” he offered but Geralt shook his head.

“Nah, I’m not giving up the chance to finally touch you myself,” he replied silkily, swiping his thumb over the tip of Jaskier’s cock, spreading precum over the head. “When you’re thinking about me, what do you imagine us doing?”

Jaskier felt the heat rise in his cheeks at the thought of some of his most base desires, but knowing that Geralt was getting off on it spurred him on. “I imagine that it’s your hands wrapped around my cock, your fingers teasing my hole.”

Geralt made a needy sound and tightened his grip around Jaskier’s cock. “Tell me more about that.”

Jaskier was finding it more and more difficult to think about anything other than the incredible sensation of Geralt pumping his cock closer and closer to climax, so when he spoke, his words were sluggish and breathless. “I imagine you spreading my asscheeks apart and sliding your big hard cock in and out of my tight little hole.”

“Fuck,” Geralt grunted. “Keep going.”

“I…” Jaskier’s head was spinning as he struggled to catch his breath. “I want to feel you fill me up. Want you to fuck me into the bed.”

“You want me to breed you and make you mine?”

 _“Fuck,_ Geralt, god yes. I want to be yours,” he keened.

As Jaskier’s breaths became more laboured, Geralt loomed forward, his expression almost feral as he sped up his sexual ministrations.

“I’m going to do all of those things, Jaskier, I promise you,” he groaned, his lust-filled, worshipful gaze never wavering from Jaskier’s. “Gonna fuck you with my huge cock and make you come without even touching your prick. Fill you up with my cum til it’s dripping out of your tight little hole. I’m gonna make you feel so good…”

Geralt’s words pushed Jaskier over the edge and his back arched as he came, shooting hot seed all over his thighs and Geralt’s hand. He sounded wrecked even to his own ears as he cried out, unable to contain the exquisite pleasure and relief contained a moment longer, but suddenly he was silenced by Geralt slamming their mouths together, jerking him over the crest of his orgasm. Jaskier had pleasured himself countless times imagining this very moment, convinced that it would be nothing more than a fanciful fantasy. But now that it had really just happened, he realised that his imagination had been severely lacking compared to how the real thing felt.

Jaskier’s head was still spinning and he was only vaguely aware of Geralt releasing his wrists and softening member from his grasp. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

Despite being completely boneless, Jaskier managed to shake his head. His arm felt unnaturally heavy as he reached out for Geralt and pulled him in for a slow, languid kiss. When Jaskier buried his face into Geralt’s neck and held him close, he murmured, “Just give me a minute to catch my breath and I’ll do you next.”

Geralt chuckled and stroked Jaskier’s hair. “There’s no rush. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You better not, I need you to drive us back home in the morning,” he joked.

Geralt’s laughter rumbled deep in his chest and he rested his chin on top of Jaskier’s head. “You’re lucky that I love you, otherwise you’d be walking back to Norwich.”

Jaskier’s heart leapt and he asked, “Can you say it again?”

“Say what?”

“That you love me.”

Geralt cupped Jaskier’s cheeks in his big, warm hands, looked him dead in the eye and said with as much conviction as he could, “I love you.”

Jaskier grinned and snuggled a little closer. He breathed in deeply and his eyelids fluttered and closed as the sweet, heady scent of Geralt’s skin—faded cologne and orange blossom—filled his lungs, making his head swim.

“I love you, too,” he sighed.


	6. Chapter 6

Jaskier woke with a start when someone started banging on the rear campervan door. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he squinted at the strip of sunlight pouring through a crack in the curtains. He groaned as he sat up in bed, his body pleasantly aching from his activities the night before. God, what time was it?

“Helloooooo…” called Triss from outside the campervan. “Is anybody home?”

“Just give me a sec!” he called, searching the dishevelled bed sheets for some clothes to cover himself with. Geralt was currently lying on his front, arms and legs splayed across the bed and snoring loudly. They had finally fallen asleep in the wee small hours of the morning, too tired and settled in each other’s arms to bother getting dressed for bed. Jaskier paused for a moment to admire Geralt; he brushed a few strands of silvery white hair from his handsome face and felt his heart swell with love and affection. Unable to resist, he leant forward and kissed Geralt’s bare shoulder. He still couldn’t quite believe his luck, that he and Geralt were finally—

“Have you forgotten that I’m still standing outside the door?” cried Triss.

Jaskier groaned with frustration and clambered off of the bed, pulling on his discarded shorts from the night before. “Hold your horses, I’m coming!”

Jaskier opened the door to find Triss with one arm leaning against the doorframe and an amused expression. “Good morning! Or, should I say, good afternoon. I see you finally managed to find some clothes so that you could answer the door.”

“What do you want?” he sighed.

“I would like to go home, please,” she quipped. “In case you haven’t noticed, the festival’s over.”

“Already?” Jaskier stuck his head out of the campervan and, sure enough, the revellers (some looking a little worse for wear) were already packing up their tents and cars. “But we just got here!”

“Time flies when you’re having fun, eh?” she teased. “Speaking of fun, you missed the big bonfire party last night. I came here to see if you guys wanted to come along but I saw the campervan shaking back and forth, so I figured that you guys were too busy to join me.”

“Oh my god,” Jaskier groaned with embarrassment but Triss just laughed.

“Hey, don’t worry about it! I’m just glad that you two finally sorted things out. Honestly, I was beginning to wonder if it was ever going to happen.”

“Triss!”

“Alright! I’m shutting up now!” she grinned, raising her hands in mock surrender. “I’ll give you guys time to get yourselves ready, I’ll go grab us some coffee for the road.”

“Thank you,” he sighed, closing the door as Triss sauntered away to find them their morning libations.

“I thought she’d never leave,” Geralt mumbled.

Jaskier turned to find Geralt still lying in bed, propped up on one arm with a content smile on his face. Jaskier flopped down on the bed beside him and Geralt wrapped his arm around his waist, pulling him closer.

“She’s not all bad,” Jaskier argued. “She’s away to get us coffee.”

“Hmm, I guess she’s not so bad after all then,” said Geralt, brushing his nose against Jaskier’s. “How long do you reckon she’ll be gone?”

Jaskier smirked. “Dunno. Could be a while.”

“Could be,” Geralt murmured, nuzzling Jaskier’s neck. “You think we’ve got time for a quickie before she gets back?”

“Definitely,” he sighed, pulling Geralt into a heated kiss.

* * *

Jaskier just managed to squeeze in a very quick quickie before Triss returned with their coffee. Within the hour, their belongings were packed away in the campervan and they were ready to begin the long journey home to Norwich. But just as Geralt turned the key in the ignition, Triss gasped and yelled that she had forgotten her bongo drum. Geralt cursed loudly and cut the engine, threatening to leave her behind if she wasn’t back with her drum in five minutes. Not taking his threat lightly, Jaskier decided to accompany Triss in case Geralt decided to do just that—he figured that Geralt would be less likely to leave Jaskier behind.

“You didn’t leave it at the bonfire, did you?” he asked as they marched past the tent village that was largely dismantled now.

“Nah, I left it at Yen’s place last night,” she explained, holding her straw hat that threatened to blow away in the wind. “I wanted to introduce you to her last night, but obviously you had more important things to attend to.”

“Sorry we missed the party,” said Jaskier. “Well, considering what happened last night, I’m not _that_ sorry I missed it, to be honest.”

“Neither am I,” Triss smiled, pulling him into an affectionate, one-armed hug. “I’m really happy for the two of you. It’s been a long time coming, if you ask me.”

Jaskier bowed his head and smiled. “Yeah, it really has.”

“Aren’t you glad that I invited you along to the festival now?” she preened. “You two might not have gotten together if I hadn’t suggested it.”

“Maybe...probably,” he relented.

“No need to thank me!” she said cheerfully. “Although, I do expect to be the best woman at your wedding. Ah! Here we are.”

Jaskier stopped dead in his tracks as he found himself standing outside the fortune teller’s carriage that he had visited the previous evening. The fortune teller sat on the steps of her carriage smoking a cigarette with Triss’s drum sitting at her feet. She looked up as Triss approached and smiled.

“Alright, love,” she greeted her, holding out the bongo drum. “I thought you’d be back for this.”

“Honestly, if my head wasn’t screwed onto my shoulders, I’d lose it too,” she exclaimed, taking the proffered drum. She turned to Jaskier and beckoned him over. “Jaskier! Come and meet Yen.”

“We’ve already had the pleasure of meeting,” Yen informed her with a wry smile. “Him and his friend paid me a visit last night.”

“You’re joking!” Triss gaped. “Geralt came to see you of his own volition? God, I missed all sorts of wild shenanigans last night, didn’t I?”

“You know each other?” asked Jaskier, confused.

“Yeah, she’s the one that told me about the festival,” Triss reminded him. “So, did you give them a reading, or something? What did you tell them—whoops!”

Just then, a particularly strong gust of wind blew Triss’s hat off of her head and sent it cascading down the grassy path. Triss hiked up her long skirt and ran after the hat, leaving Jaskier and Yen alone. Yen smiled at him while he had that same unsettling feeling that she was reading his mind.

“So, you and Triss are friends?” he asked.

“Yup,” she nodded, taking another draw of her cigarette. “Small world, eh?”

“Suspiciously so,” he mumbled. “When Geralt and I came to see you last night, did you already know who we were?”

“Maybe,” she replied evasively.

“Because of Triss,” Jaskier realised. Yen shrugged.

“She may have mentioned you both on occasion,” she admitted. “And I may or may not have recognised you both from her posts on Instagram.”

Jaskier’s heart sank. “Right. So...all of that stuff you said last night—you just made all of that up?”

Yen cocked her thin eyebrow at him. “You and Geralt love each other, right?”

“Well, yes.”

“And you’ve been in love with each other for a long time now, yes?”

“Yes, but—”

“Sounds to me like I hit the nail on the head,” she said casually.

“But you also said that you didn’t have to be a psychic to see that we loved each other,” Jaskier argued.

“I did,” she nodded. “The only ones that were blind to that fact were you and Geralt. I just gave you both a gentle nudge in the right direction.”

“So...you’re not really psychic?”

“I never claimed to be a psychic,” she reminded him, stubbing the cigarette on the steps of her carriage. “I’m a fortune teller. And a bloody good one, at that.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Right. Like there’s a difference.”

“There’s quite a few differences, I’ll have you know,” she replied patiently. Yen held her hand out to him. “Come here a sec, will you?”

Jaskier frowned. “Why?”

“I’m going to give you a quick reading,” she explained. “Don’t worry, this one’s a freebie.”

Jaskier let out a weary sigh but once again, curiosity got the better of him, so he held out his right hand to her. She took a firm grip of it and pulled it close to her face, inspecting the lines on his palm.

After a few long moments of silence, Jaskier cleared his throat and asked, “So, what’s the verdict?”

Yen looked up at him and smiled. “Good news: you and your boy will live happily ever after.”

Jaskier laughed. “Does it really say that?”

“It does if you stay the course,” she said, releasing his hand. “Like you said, it’s written in the stars—well, tarot cards, to be more precise.”

Jaskier’s mouth fell open with shock but before he could respond, Triss came running back over, waving her hat triumphantly over her head. “Slippery little bugger nearly got away from me! Right, we’re going to have to love you and leave you, Yen. Geralt’s threatening to leave us behind and I don’t fancy hitchhiking across the country with only my bongo drum to keep me ticking over.”

Jaskier and Triss waved goodbye to Yen, and were relieved to find Geralt still waiting for them in the campervan. Once Triss climbed into the back and Jaskier buckled his seatbelt, Geralt glared at Triss through the rearview mirror.

“Can we go now?” he grumbled. “Or would you like to take another quick tour of the island before we make tracks? It’s not like we haven’t got a fourteen-hour drive home ahead of us.”

“Nah, I’m ready to go now,” said Triss brightly, popping on her oversized sunglasses. “Thanks anyway!”

Geralt rolled his eyes and turned to Jaskier and asked more gently, “Are you ready?”

Jaskier nodded and squeezed his thigh. “Let’s go home.”

Geralt smiled at that and smacked a kiss to Jaskier’s cheek before turning the key in the ignition. The campervan groaned into life and Jaskier wondered if the old rust bucket would survive the long journey home. If the car did break down, he didn’t care what Triss said, she’d be the one sleeping in the tent this time.

As Jaskier watched the Calanais standing stones melt into the horizon, he thought about all of the adventures he and Geralt had experienced together as friends over a single weekend: camping in the torrential rain. Getting eaten alive by midges. Skinny dipping in the sea. Even falling in love. Today, another adventure was about to begin: the first day of the rest of their lives as more than friends. It was the most exciting adventure of Jaskier’s life to date, and he couldn’t wait to see where it would take them both.

Their first stop was the ferry port at Stornoway.

THE END


End file.
